


Fictober 2018

by Keldae



Series: Interludes [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humour, Multi, One-Shots, multi genre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keldae/pseuds/Keldae
Summary: I started Fictober! I may have lost focus after the 12th day or so, but have a collection of oneshots from that month.





	1. "Can you feel this?"

~~~~When Theron became engrossed in going over intelligence reports from Alliance operatives, there were very few things that could turn his attention from a datapad or the stack of flimsi sheets on his desk. Traditionally, those few things involved blaster fire, blaring alarms, or the ever-suspicious sound of Blizz’s Jawa crew nearby (even if the Jawas did seem to decide they liked picking on Lana more). **  
**

This was the day that something else was proven to get Theron’s attention in a heartbeat. He jerked his head up when he heard the sharp intake of breath coming from the couch. “Xaja?” he worriedly asked as he twisted around in his seat to see his wife (his _wife!_  It still felt surreal that they had eloped only a month before, and that the most powerful woman in the galaxy– and in Theron’s opinion, the most beautiful– had wanted to marry  _him_.).

Xaja didn’t answer Theron’s query for a moment, making the spy frown in concern. When he stood up, he could see her stretched out on the couch, seemingly frozen in place, staring down at the swell of her stomach under her tunic. “I…” She swallowed hard and slowly touched her stomach. “… I think I felt him kick.”

Theron was at her side almost before he registered that his feet were moving. “Really?” he asked, unsure if the emotion coursing through his veins was anxiety or elation. Xaja had been able to feel their son moving around within her womb before, but this was the first time she had felt the baby kicking and not merely squirming. “He’s moving that much?”

“I think so– oh!” Xaja sharply looked back down at her stomach, then reached for Theron’s hand. “He’s feeling active today, apparently. Can you feel this?” She pulled Theron’s hand up to her stomach, lifting her tunic out of the way so he could touch her skin directly.

Holding his breath, Theron gently pressed his palm against her stomach, right over where their unborn son was growing. For long moments, he felt only the warmth of Xaja’s skin against his own, and the sensation of her abdomen moving as she breathed. He sighed in disappointment, and would have let his hand drop if Xaja hadn’t still been holding it–

A sudden little jolt pulsed against his palm, in the same second that Xaja squeaked. Theron lowly gasped, his heart racing as he registered what that tiny knock against his hand had been. “Kriffing hells,” he whispered, awestruck as he eagerly rested his other hand beside the first, and was rewarded with another kick. “That… that’s him?”

“I think he knows you,” Xaja murmured, smiling as Theron lowered his face down to gently kiss her stomach over the kicking. “He moves around the most when you’re nearby.”

“That so?” Theron asked, trying to sound casual even if his heart skipped a beat at that. He decided that the feeling of his stomach doing backflips was joy that his apparently-Force-sensitive son recognized him already, still months away from being born. He pressed another kiss to Xaja’s stomach as the baby kicked once more, then seemed to finally settle down. “I’m excited to meet you too, buddy,” he murmured.


	2. "People like you have no imagination."

“Clearly our only option is to kill the target,” spoke one of the men standing around a holotable displaying the rotating image of a Twi’lek crime lord, holding valuable assets and intel in his considerable criminal empire. “Cut the head off the serpent, and the rest of his crime ring will follow.” **  
**

“How shall we assassinate him?” asked the second man. “Poison or a sniper shot?”

The third man snorted in disdain. “People like you have no imagination. Killing him leaves too many loose ends, too many uncontrollable variables.”

“It’s Nar Shaddaa,” growled the first. “One crime lord dying won’t drastically affect things–”

“Idiot,” the third man retorted. “He controls all the supply intake and information tracking in this sector. He’s more valuable to us alive.”

“We can’t take him alive, Cipher,” argued the second man. “And it’ll be impossible to make him submit to the Empire. He’s too stubborn and set in his ways.”

“Leave it to me.” The third man smirked, the same cold expression that so many people had learned to be wary of during Cipher Nine’s long and impressive career in Imperial Intelligence. “Give me twenty four hours, and he’ll be eating out of the Empire’s hand.”

“You can’t–! It’s impossible, Cipher!”

“Watch me… amateurs.” Reanden Taerich darkly smirked as he turned and walked away from the other two men, dark leatheris jacket and slowly-greying hair vanishing into the shadows.

* * *

Circling the Twi'lek in the shadows, dim light barely glinting off the vibrodagger he casually flipped over and over in his hand, it took Cipher Nine a mere fourteen hours and twenty-three minutes to get said Twi'lek to swear loyalty to the Sith Empire. And if his mark shifted around nervously the next day while formally announcing his allegiance to the Empire, looking for his assailant’s leatheris-clad form, no one mentioned it.

And if Reanden took the opportunity to slice the crime organization’s information network for himself while stalking his target from the shadows, no one needed to know. The SIS would have need of this, and his own loyalty to the Empire… well, less said about that, the better.


	3. "How can I trust you?"

It was only their second day on Rishi, all sequestered in the safehouse that Theron and Lana (and Jakarro) had procured. And during those two days, Xaja had come to a peak of nervous discomfort and uncertainty. **  
**

She was a Jedi, one of the Order typically sworn to not have a family. And yet, now she had two brothers and a father. She had met Sorand well over a year ago on Voss, while she had raced to stop the apocalypse and he had been gathering his strength to fight the Dark Lord of the Sith who had a death mark on his head. And she had met Korin months ago on the shuttle to Korriban, preparing an attack on the Sith Academy. She couldn’t say she was close with either of her brothers yet, but she certainly liked them well enough, and they seemed to like her too.

Her father… Xaja wasn’t sure. The idea that she was the daughter of Cipher Nine, Imperial Intelligence’s oldest and longest-lasting field operative, with a vicious streak a parsec wide and a kill list longer than her arm, was discomfiting. And yet, she had a vague memory of him helping her escape the Emperor’s station, freeing her from the shock collar the Sith had put around her neck to keep her compliant and under Vitiate’s control. And he had been nothing but charming in the few times she’d met him since Manaan, when he wasn’t poking fun at Theron.

She had no idea how she was supposed to feel about the grey-haired man who lazily sprawled over a panel of the safehouse roof, basking in Rishi’s sunlight while flicking through files on a datapad. Every sense of logic that she had insisted that he was an Imperial spy, and agents of the Empire weren’t to be trusted–

“If you wanted to chat, baby girl, you don’t have to just stand there.” Reanden glanced over in Xaja’s direction, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I don’t bite.”

Chagrined at being caught, Xaja took a couple of cautious steps toward her father as he sat up and set the datapad to the side. “Sorry,” she quietly said, trying to not fidget with the hem of her tunic. “I just… I don’t know. I had questions.”

“I’ll bet you do. And you deserve some answers.” Reanden patted the roof panel beside him. “Come, sit. I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

“… But how can I trust you?” Xaja asked before she could stop herself. She tried to ignore the brief flash of hurt in her father’s eyes. “I barely know you, and what I know is you used to work for Imperial Intelligence – hells, you’re something of a legend.”

“Not untrue,” Reanden nodded in agreement, his face schooled back to neutral calmness. “What reason would I have to lie to you?”

That made Xaja shrug. “I don’t know,” she quietly said. “I just…”

“… You don’t trust easily. You come by that honestly, from both your mother and I.” With a grunt, Reanden drew one knee closer to his chest and casually rested his elbow there. “You and your brothers all got somewhat kriffed in that genetic lottery – sorry.”

A smile pulled at Xaja’s mouth despite her best efforts. It disappeared in a thoughtful frown. “… How did you and my mother meet? I don’t know much of anything about her from the Corellian Jedi.”

“The Green Jedi didn’t tell you  _anything_  about your mum?” That got a frown. “Blast it. Your mother was a legend on her own, sweetheart.” Reanden tilted his head in thought, lowly humming to himself as Xaja hesitantly approached him and sat down. “The first time your mother and I met, we were on assignments from our respective handlers to kill each other. We obviously both failed, multiple times – it wound up becoming something of a game for the first several months to see who would end up knocked out or tied up in a more embarrassing predicament, courtesy of the other one…”

Three hours of nostalgic stories later, and Xaja started to feel that maybe, just maybe, she could trust her father as much as she was slowly learning to trust her brothers.


	4. "Will that be all?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: abuse in this chapter.

“… and once you’ve thoroughly cleaned His Excellency’s throne room, you will go and prepare guest chambers for his esteemed visitors. And they will be immaculate, to the highest standards that His Imminence demands.”

The Zabrak overseer looked down at the two teenage slaves before him. The Twi’lek boy had finally seemed to have been broken, his rebellious spirit quelled by the red, inflamed marks across his back. He just nodded, cowering from every twitch of the Zabrak’s hand.

The human beside him… well, he was quiet, at least. The boy seemed to have hit a growth spurt, and despite being young and half-starved, already stood as tall as the Zabrak, possibly a smidge taller. He seemed to be holding himself stiffly from a matching set of lines on his back, but he wasn’t flinching.

Brown eyes looked up through a veil of messy, dark brown hair that hadn’t seen a brush in months, still somehow showing a hint of defiance in his expression. When he spoke, he sounded almost bored. “Will that be all?”

The Zabrak scowled and backhanded the human, earning a grunt from him and a strangled yelp from the Twi’lek. “And after you’re done with the guest chambers,  _you_ will go and work in the animal pits. Maybe we’ll all be lucky and the acklay will eat you. Now get moving, wretches!”

Holding his swelling and sore cheek with one hand, Sorand Taerich watched as the overseer stalked away, running his tongue around his mouth to make sure his teeth were still present. He was going to sport another bruise on the side of his face for at least a week, and wouldn’t His Glorious Hutt-ness be pleased with that. It would match nicely with the whip marks on his back, given only two days ago.

“You’re gonna get killed,” whispered the Twi’lek as soon as the Zabrak was out of earshot. “He’ll kill you himself, if the Hutt doesn’t.”

“Nah,” Sorand muttered. “I’m too valuable.” At least, that was what the last slaver who had owned him had said while shoving him onto an auction stand. Healthy human children and teenagers were worth a lot of credits, especially if they were educated, and Sorand was pretty sure he was only thirteen or fourteen. He’d missed a couple of birthdays in the slave pits. “The Hutt’ll get pissed and sell me to the next buyer so he doesn’t lose a profit. You know how he is.”

“Not sure if I hope you’re right, or hope you’re wrong,” the Twi’lek mumbled. “Gettin’ killed’s gonna hurt less than another whipping, or the… the collar.”

Sorand shuddered at the memory of the shock collar, but tried to hide it. That had nearly broken him in a way the whipping hadn’t. “I’ll make it. I always do.” He would keep making it, too – whatever it took. He was the only living witness to his mother’s murder, and he swore he would find a way to destroy his uncle.

But first, he had to survive the slave trade. And his only option was the faint, desperate hope of the child he had been before he had been ripped away from the life he knew.  _They didn’t kill Dad. Dad might still be alive. If Dad’s alive, he’ll find me. Dad will get me out of here._


	5. "Take what you need."

His daughter would have been twenty-six today.

Reanden swirled the whiskey around in his glass, the burn on the back of his throat doing nothing to ease the ache in his heart. The galaxy under siege from an outside powerhouse, both Coruscant and Dromund Kaas suffocating under Zakuul’s grip… and his own heart broken by the invaders. His only consolation was that both of his sons still lived, and his murdered daughter was now with her mother, somewhere in the nebulous Force.  _There is no death? Heh._   _Not from where I’m sitting._

He took another drink from his glass before the sounds of a brawl came to his ears. Already muttering curses for whoever had come to this particular cantina to spoil his quiet mourning, he twisted slightly in his seat. A second later, he swore out loud and turned back to his whiskey. Of course the Shan kid was here. Why wouldn’t the damned Force throw something else at him to make his life miserable today? He didn’t mind the kid, really… but the sight of Theron Shan made him immediately think of Xaja. He hadn’t been blind to the looks they’d shared, or their unspoken body language around each other during the Revanite fiasco.

He sighed, supposing he couldn’t really blame the kid for wanting to vent out his own grief. But did he have to pick a fight with a Devaronian twice his size right here, right now?

He turned slightly to see the kid get knocked out by a punch that made him wince in sympathy, before the cantina’s bouncer started hauling his sorry hide outside.  _Good,_  Reanden silently thought as he turned back to his whiskey. Now he could go back to grieving in peace and quiet.

The prickle on the back of his neck made him sigh irritably. Airna might have been dead for over a decade now, but he swore he could still feel her glare as though she was standing right behind him. “Really?” he muttered in exasperation at his wife's spirit.  _He’s a grown adult, and this probably isn’t the first fight he’s gotten into–_

The feeling of the glare amped up, and now Reanden swore he could feel Xaja glaring at him beside her mother. He sighed and tossed back the remainder of his whiskey. “Fine,” he grumbled as he stood up, and immediately felt the prickling lessen.  _Only because he was yours, baby girl,_  he silently thought, and wondered if his daughter’s spirit could read his thoughts.

He left the cantina by a side exit, leading to a grimy alley lit by flickering neon signs. It was enough for him to see the crumpled heap of red leatheris jacket and an impressive set of bruises already showing on the kid’s face. “You dumbass,” the old spy complained as he knelt to check on Theron’s pulse, then hauled his arm over his shoulder and stood up with a grunt of effort.  _I’m getting too old for this shit._

* * *

Theron groaned as he slowly came to, feeling every single bruise he’d acquired last night, pounding in time to his aching head. Right now, he couldn’t tell if that ache was a hangover or a concussion.

He gingerly opened one eye and tried to roll over, then winced. Hangover.

His brain finally caught up to his eyes, and he frowned in confusion when he realized he was in a simply-furnished room, on a reasonably-comfortable couch. On the table beside him, he could see a bottle of water and a container of painkillers, both still sealed. “What the…” he softly muttered as he slowly sat up, waiting until the room stopped spinning before he reached for the pills.

“Your idiot ass got thrown out of a cantina,” came a voice that made Theron jump. He turned, and tried to not wince when his head protested the movement. He blinked when he saw the shadowy figure leaning against a doorframe a few feet away; another blink made Reanden Taerich come into focus. The older spy was relaxed in posture, with no weapons visible; Theron still didn’t quite relax. “You would’ve probably gotten yourself killed otherwise.” The old man shrugged one shoulder lazily. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Theron mumbled as he gingerly settled back down, rubbing his head where he could feel a bump under his hair. “… Where are we?”

“Personal safehouse off the Red Light sector. It’s mine, although Korin crashes here every once in a while.” Reanden pushed off the doorframe and gestured with his head to the room beyond him. “Caf’s brewing, and there’s some rations if you think you can stomach them. Take what you need, kid.”

Theron frowned as the older spy started to walk away. “Why?” he asked, and saw Reanden pause. “You could’ve left me there.”  _Maybe I wanted to be left there,_  a soft voice in the back of his head murmured.  _Maybe I didn’t want to be rescued._

Reanden didn’t answer for a moment. He finally turned his head slightly. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to end up like that,” he quietly said. “She cared about you, Theron, no matter what I think of you. She wouldn’t have left you there.” He sighed and turned back away before he continued walking. “Fresher’s down the hallway if you need a shower.”

Theron watched as the older man walked away, then sighed and reached for the painkillers. Much though it galled him to admit that Cipher Nine was right – Xaja wouldn’t have let him get into shit like this.  _But Xaja’s gone, otherwise I wouldn’t be like this. Of all the people in the galaxy to lose, why you?_


	6. "I've heard enough. This ends now."

Little boys, in Sorand’s experience, weren’t always the best at playing quietly. He could still remember some of the very loud adventures he and Korin had made up as small children, and knew that a child’s fertile imagination had no sense of volume control. **  
**

But, he thought as he tilted his head down the hallway, perhaps limits needed to be set when his son and his nephew got into mischief together. Cuyan was the older cousin by a couple of years, and Daenril followed him like a stray akk puppy. Cuyan also had apparently taken after his uncle with the excess of excited energy and the questionably-good ideas for adventures. Add in the love of reading and stories that the boy had inherited from his father, and there was more than enough material to inspire an over-active imagination.

“Are they trying to re-enact the Mandalorian Wars down there?” Theron asked as he stopped beside his brother-in-law and frowned in the direction of the boys’ excited noises.

“Or one of Torian’s hunting stories, perhaps,” Sorand chuckled. “As long as this one doesn’t turn into one of them falling off a–”

There was the sound of crashing furniture that made both men wince. “Okay,” Theron muttered as he started hurrying down the hallway, “I’ve heard enough. This ends now.” Sorand watched, inwardly debating if he needed to comm Shara and inform her that  _her_  genes ( _not_ Sorand’s this time. That was his story and he was sticking to it.) had landed Cuyan in trouble again, as the spy reached the door and extended a hand to open it. “Boys, what the kriff are you two–”

There was the sound of a challenging high-pitched warcry, echoed by a slightly younger voice, followed by the charge of two pairs of little feet. Theron yelled as he went down hard, bowled over by the unstoppable energy of two little boys on entirely too much sugar. Seemingly uncaring of his father’s plight, Daenril scampered off after Cuyan, both boys wearing what looked like a child’s attempt at  _beskar’gam_  that appeared to be entirely held together by tape and wielding their toy blasters, the halls echoing with their battle yells.

Sorand couldn’t help himself. He doubled over laughing as the boys ran off on their conquest and Theron painfully rolled onto his side, curled up in such a way as to suggest that Daenril wasn’t getting a younger sibling anytime soon. The spy cracked one eye open to balefully glare at the Sith. “Not. Funny,” he growled out. “Most of that was  _your_  kid.”

“Sorry,” Sorand gasped around his laughter. “I’ll ground him for a week or so.” He shot his brother-in-law a grin. “But I must say, their attack techniques are getting much better.”

“Great,” Theron groaned. “I’m so proud.”

The sound of a crash and a yell that sounded suspiciously like Lana made both men sharply glance down the hallway. “… I’ll go deal with that,” Sorand muttered as he hurried off to go catch his son and nephew before they wreaked an entire path of destructive conquest.


	7. "We still have time."

“ _We are going to be late,_ ” Risha growled through gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get a meeting with this contact?”

“You said we’re meeting him at 20:00 hours, right?” Korin looked up from his pazaak game and shot Risha a charming grin. “No worries, we still have time.”

“It’s on the other side of Coronet City!” Risha snapped at her captain, entirely uncaring of the pazaak match going down, with a lanky Togruta on the other side of the table. “It’ll take us an  _hour_  to get to even the general neighbourhood!”

“Yeah, and it’s only 18:48. We got loads of time.” Korin placed another card on the table and addressed the Togruta. “Ten.”

“Kiss your creds goodbye, Cap’n.” The Togruta grinned as he placed a +6 on the table. “Cards just ain’t with ya. Nineteen an’ holdin’.”

Risha sighed irritably as Korin reached for the deck again. “If you make us late by losing a game of pazaak that you  _had_  to join…” she threatened.

“Excuse you, I ain’t plannin’ on losin’ nothing.” Korin laid down a +5 card, then reached for his side deck and selected the card with a large “D” on it. “Doublin’ my last card puts me at twenty, and I win. Cough ‘em up, buddy.”

The Togruta snarled some creative suggestions for what Korin could do with his pazaak deck as he reached into his pocket and slammed down a pile of cred chits before standing up and storming off to the cantina bar. Cheerily whistling, Korin collected his winnings and stuffed them safely in his own pocket before retrieving his prized pazaak deck. Risha took a look at the smug grin on his face and sighed, rolling her eyes skyward. “You insufferable ass,” she grumbled.

“Awww, you like it, otherwise you wouldn’t stick around.” Korin winked as he nudged Risha’s side, the grin widening.

“I stay around more out of pity than anything else,” Risha retorted as she started walking to the exit, Korin a step behind her. She tilted her head slightly toward him, raising an eyebrow. “You knew that plus-five was the next card, didn’t you? You were using the Force.”

“Was not,” Korin quickly retorted. “I was ready for just about anythin’ except a plus-one.”

“Uh-huh,” Risha dryly said, clearly not believing the smuggler’s protestations. For all that he claimed he hated the Force and wouldn’t use it, she suspected the Force was the only reason he was still alive and so successful. He was totally using it, subconsciously or otherwise. “Whatever you say, Captain. C’mon, the next tram leaves in seven minutes and we’d better be on it.”


	8. "I know you do."

Ilum was beautiful, in its stark, frozen way. Frozen pillars of ice stood upright like countless silvery blades embedded in the planet’s frozen ground. The stars glittered through the atmosphere, clearer than Xaja could remember seeing on any planet before. And if she focused hard enough, she swore she could sense the faintest echoes of the kyber crystals contained within Ilum’s caves, built into the ruins of the old Jedi Temple here. **  
**

That was about all Ilum had going for it.

Xaja groaned as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself and stamped her feet to try and get some feeling back in her toes. Despite the layers of thermal gear, she felt like the wind was cold and sharp enough to bite through any layer of clothing. “I hate this,” she whined, forsaking her Jedi dignity long enough to complain about the elements.

“I know you do,” came the grumble from Doc’s scarf-covered face. For once, the charming rogue doctor act had been dropped so he could equally express his displeasure with their current situation. “Didn’t you swear we were never visiting ice worlds again?”

“Yep.” Xaja scowled behind her own scarf and flexed her fingers within her gloves. “Blame fucking Malgus for this one.”

“I was gonna blame the Supreme Commander for dragging us out here,” Doc muttered. “But yeah, good point. This is all Malgus’ fault.”

“We catch up with that Force-forsaken bastard of a Sith,” Xaja growled as the pair continued moving down the mountain, “I’m going to throw him out in one of these blizzards,  _naked_.”

Doc snorted a laugh. “I bet even Scourge would wanna help with that–”

The sound of an angry roar interrupted their conversation, and Xaja yelped as she pushed Doc backwards and away from the very large, and apparently very territorial, guid. Indulging in a couple of choice expletives not normally associated with Jedi, she snatched one of her lightsabers to fight against the angry animal. "Kriffing _hells!_ "

“I don’t care what sorta symbolism this place has to you Jedi,” Doc yelled as he darted out of the guid’s swiping range, blaster out to shoot. “I hate this kriffing planet!”

“It’s still better than Hoth!” Xaja yelled back as she flipped away from the guid’s angry pounding of the ice underfoot, trying to leap over the animal’s back to stab it from above.

“Only in terms of scenery, Red!”


	9. "You shouldn't have come here."

On silent feet, Reanden let himself into a conspicuously-secure building on Nar Shaddaa, or what  _had_  been a conspicuously-secure building until he had disabled the security cams. He frowned when he realized the proximity sensors for the complex had already been disabled, and knelt beside one to investigate. No signs of slicing, or of brute damage to the device itself. It was like it had simply spontaneously broken from within. He suspected if he disassembled it, he would find wires disconnected from each other.

He softly groaned. To his knowledge, a skilled Force-user was the only one who could pull off something like that with no visible exterior damage, which meant–

“You shouldn’t have come here.” The pretty Corellian Jedi stepped out of the shadows, dropping her Force-cloaking. Her saber-staff was in her hand, although it wasn’t yet activated. Her expression was displeased, although it wasn’t the furious glare Reanden was getting quite familiar with, or the smug grin he was also seeing a lot of.

“Didn’t expect you here, Drallig.” Reanden stood up, blaster rifle secure in his hands. “Did this gang hire you on as security?”

Airna Drallig snorted. “Right. And I’m sure you’re here for a party.”

“Clearly. I need a plus one, though.” Reanden couldn’t resist winking, just to get a scowl out of the Jedi. She was too much fun to annoy… until she was knocking him out or leaving him restrained in storage closets.  _Again._

“Maybe you can take one of your many varied personalities,” Airna sweetly retorted, earning an eyeroll from the Imperial spy. The Jedi glanced down the hallway, all sarcastic humour evaporating from her. “There’s a patrol scheduled to come by in two minutes. Don’t let them catch you down here.”

“That’s suspiciously helpful of you.”

Airna scowled. “If they catch you here, they’ll put the place on lockdown, and that’s going to make my job a lot more difficult. Consider it a favour, Taerich.”

“I’m touched by the legendary generosity of the Jedi,” Reanden deadpanned. But he still activated his stealth generator as Airna disappeared back under her Force-cloak, lingering only long enough to make a rude gesture at him. He still grinned despite being invisible.

Leaving the patrol to make their rounds, he turned and started creeping down another corridor. He’d memorized the blueprint of the building already, and knew that the main office with the holocall records he needed to access was deeper into the building. For several minutes, he snuck through the corridors, invisible and soundless, nothing more than a faint ripple of air.

He finally found the door he sought, and crept over to the control panel to open it. But before he could reach the controls, sparks flew from the console and the door slid open. He sharply inhaled despite himself, and heard a stifled squeak from the air beside him. “For kriff’s sake, Jedi!” he growled out as he dropped his stealth field, glaring at the redhead beside him.

“You complete and utter  _asshole_ ,” Airna hissed at him as she stalked into the office, gracing Reanden with a scowl. “Do they pick the biggest jerks they can for Imperial Intelligence?”

“Much the same way they pick the stubborn bitches for the Jedi Order,” Reanden growled as he made his way over to the main computer terminal. He reached for the computer, then side-eyed Airna as she came around the desk. “… You need this too?”

“Yep.” Airna crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What are you looking for?”

Reanden shrugged, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. “This gang’s been dealing in arms and spice smuggling in the entire sector. The Empire wouldn’t normally care, but one of those drugs they’re spreading is kriffing with entire units of troops. I’m finding who their supplier is. You?”

“Arms and spice aren’t the only things they’re dealing in,” Airna muttered. “They’re trafficking slaves, some as young as eight years old.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this is Hutt Space. Slave trading–”

“They’re trading to Republic officers and senators. There’s a shipment outbound for the Alderaanian system tomorrow. I’m shutting down the supply tonight.”

Reanden blinked. “… You’re going to attempt breaking out an entire shipment full of slaves from one of the most secure complexes in this entire sector?”

“No. I’m _going_ to break out that entire shipment of slaves. I just need to know where in this facility they are.”

He knew that stubborn set of her jaw, that angry glint in her green eyes. She wouldn’t let anything get in her way of doing her mission… and Reanden did feel a little sick at the idea of little kids being traded as slaves. He’d seen it happen in Imperial Space before, and knew what sort of fates claimed an alarming percentage of those kids. He wasn’t sure of the statistics in Republic Space, but he didn’t really want to know.

The young agent sighed and sliced into the mainframe, pulling up detailed schematics of the facility. “Third story up, first hallway to the right of the main turbolift, second door on your left. If you see the laboratory, you’ve gone too far, from the looks of it.”

“… I’m impressed, Taerich.” Airna raised both eyebrows. “You actually have a hint of a ‘nice guy’ side in you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Reanden retorted, not looking up from the console. “Consider it returning a professional favour.” He wasn’t surprised when Airna still leaned over his shoulder to confirm the layout of the facility – they were still enemy agents, after all. She nodded, apparently satisfied, and hurried out of the office, silent as a ghost.

 _Only because her job doesn’t interfere with mine,_ Reanden thought to himself as he started downloading shipping manifests and holocall logs pertaining to the spice trade.  _That’s all._  And when he glanced at the security tracking to see if she had triggered anything or if she was hurt, he told himself it was because she was his favourite pain in the ass to deal with, and  _he_ was the only person allowed to try and shoot her.

He still lingered in the shadows of the hallways until she returned safely, leading a dozen alien children to freedom.


	10. "You think this troubles me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: excessive violence of a Sithly nature.

“Kriff, you’re young.” The fair-skinned human stared up at Sorand, blood-red tattoos on his face moving as he scowled up at his rival. “I wonder if Darth Thanaton knows what a child Zash took on.”

“I fail to see why your train of thought went that direction, and not to your current predicament.” Sixteen year olds were stubborn, and sixteen year old Sith were even more so. Sorand paced in front of the other Sith, feeling the heat burning behind his eyes and giving them a sulphuric glow.

“Heh.. no wonder you wear that mask all the time,” the other Sith said with a broken, pained laugh. “You want to hide the fact you’re just a child playing at being true Sith. But I know better,  _Kallig_.”

“You think this troubles me?” Sorand raised an eyebrow and let the side of his mouth raise in a cruel smile. “It matters not what you know. You won’t live long enough to share that information with anyone, least of all Thanaton.”

“Ha!” The other Sith smirked as he struggled back to his feet, his limbs still twitching with the aftereffects of Sorand’s barrage of Force Lightning that had taken him down. “He’ll make me a Lord of the Sith for killing you, slave–”

“ _Nobody_  calls me ‘slave’,” Sorand snarled as he sent the rival Sith back to the ground with another hard burst of lightning streaming from his fingertips. Fury shot through his veins, and he saw red at the corner of his vision. He had left the title of ‘slave’ behind him when he had been chosen by Zash, and certainly had stepped far above that lowly rank when he had become Lord Kallig. Nobody would ever call him that again, he silently vowed.

He finally ceased the lightning stream, and watched the other Sith painfully roll on the ground. “This is what Thanaton chose for an apprentice?” he asked. “Pathetic.”

“Heh… better than someone from the slave pits,” the Sith gasped around his pained groans. “I am from a line of pure Sith!”

“And you’ve just had your ass handed to you by someone who came from the slave pits,” Sorand sneered. “Your line is dying out.” He turned dismissively from the still-twitching pile of limbs, and nodded to an eagerly-waiting Khem Val. “He’s all yours.”

“ _A weak Sith is still a decent meal,_ ” Khem growled as he lumbered toward the downed Sith rival; Sorand felt a burst of nauseating fear in the Force as the would-be assassin realized what his fate was going to be. Forcing himself to keep the mask of an aloof Sith Lord on his features, he walked out of the room, and tried to not wince at the sounds coming from behind him. _This doesn’t trouble me. Nobody knows if this troubles me or not. Play their game to get out of it… play their game to live long enough to get out of it…_


	11. "But I will never forget."

_I know you thought you were doing the right thing. And maybe you were, in the long run. But stars, you… you idiot. It was never supposed to be you against the galaxy, or me fighting alone. But…  
_

_They keep telling me it’ll get better. They tell me that one day, it’ll stop feeling like my heart’s shattering every time it beats. One day, I might be able to lie down in the bed we shared without wanting to cry. But right now, no matter what anyone says, that feels like it’s centuries and lightyears away. It hurts, damn you, it_ hurts _and I can’t make it stop._

_You should know, we caught the bastard who did this to you. Nothing we do to him and his ilk is going to bring you back, but at least you’re avenged. You can rest easy now. He’ll never hurt anyone else again._

_Daenril’s okay. It breaks my heart that he’s going to grow up with no memories of you. The stories he’s going to hear from his uncles, and his grandparents, and everyone else in this base… it’s something, I guess, but stars it’s not enough. It’ll never be memories of you that he deserves. He… he’s not going to remember you. But I will never forget. How can I, when there’s a void shaped like you in my heart, when you’re branded onto every part of me?_

_Lana thinks that Daenril’s the only reason I’m still clinging to life. And I think she’s right. It hurts too much to go on without you. But I can’t leave our baby an orphan. You would never forgive me._

_It shouldn’t have been you. It should never have been you. Why the hell didn’t you wait for me to come and help you?! It’s a nightmare, and this time it won’t end with a rescue out of carbonite. Stars, I would do anything to wake up from this to see you laying beside me._

_Wait for me, love._

Shaking hands folded the piece of paper and set it against the simple stone memorial. There wasn’t a body under the gravestone – there hadn’t been one to recover. But at least it was somewhere to grieve. And grieve the Alliance had – there were still a plethora of flowers and notes left behind by other mourners. But none of them mattered right now.

One rough, battle-worn hand rested against the warm stone, thumb slowly running over the carved lines telling the date of death… the death of both of them. One now resting in peace, and one barely summoning up the strength to keep breathing. A forehead rested against the back of the hand, and tears escaped squeezed-shut eyes to fall onto the paper note.

Finally, there was a broken whisper of “I love you,” and a kiss brushed against the stone before Xaja got to her feet and slowly walked away from Theron’s tombstone.


	12. "Who could do this?"

“We do get to enjoy the scenic planets around,” Kira dryly commented as she and Xaja walked up the  _Serenity_ ’s ramp. “First the warzone overrun with giant bugs, and now a giant toxic swamp that’ll make Taris look like a paradise getaway…”

“At least they’re both above freezing temperatures,” Xaja said as she set foot on the deck of her ship. “It could be worse – it could be Hoth.”

Kira snorted a laugh. “Careful. That’ll be the next planet after Quesh.”

“Eugh.” Xaja made a face and turned to walk to the  _Serenity_ ’s bridge as Kira laughed. The petite redhead stopped in her tracks, eyes bulging. “What the  _hells?!_ ”

“Huh?” Kira, who had been about to go down the ramp to make sure Doc and Tee-Seven were on board, hurried to her master’s side. A second later, her jaw dropped. “What the… is our entire bridge  _gift-wrapped?_ ”

“Yep.” Xaja took a couple of disbelieving steps forward, her hand brushing over the back of a chair covered in the most garish, cartoony wrapping paper she had ever seen in her life. “Who could do this?…”

A second later, she whirled to make eye contact with Kira. “ _Jakar,_ ” they chorused – Kira promptly doubled over laughing. “So, you think he found out you’re the one who put itching powder in his boots?”

“That was well-deserved after the dye crystals in my showerhead,” Xaja muttered, as she turned back to survey her gift-wrapped bridge. “This means  _war_.”

* * *

Jakar Forseti, venerable Jedi Master and Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order, looked at the assorted diplomats he had gathered in the conference room of his own ship, the  _Balance of Justice_. “The Children of the Emperor are a greater threat than we had suspected,” he gravely said. “More than ever, we need a unified Republic to stop them before they can wreak further havoc on our worlds and our people.”

“What’s your latest intel on ‘em?” Zenith asked, leaning against the back wall of the room as per usual.

“The Council has forwarded what they know to me.” Jakar reached to hit a button on the console, blissfully unaware of Tharan and Nadia winking at each other behind his back, or of Qyzen’s widening grin. “This is–”

“ _Never letting you down, never giving you up…_ ” The strains of a loud, catchy, and in Jakar’s opinion the most irritating song in the galaxy came out of the console, drowning out almost every other sound in the conference room. He glared down at the innocent console in the table as the sounds of snickers came from around the room, already knowing _exactly_ who was responsible for this. “It’s  _on_ , you little midget,” he growled at the console.  _This is going to be stuck in my head for the next week._

“Hey, Jedi.” Even Zenith’s normal dour expression had cracked in a smirk. “Isn’t revenge supposed to not be the Jedi way?”

“Settling the score before Knight Taerich thinks she’s come out on top isn’t  _revenge_. It’s showing a younger Jedi her place in the pecking order.” Jakar tried to school his face back into the calm, somewhat peaceful expression of a Jedi Master, and almost succeeded. “I’m letting gizka loose in her ship for this.”


End file.
